


biarritz

by vtforpedro



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beach Holidays, Fluff, M/M, Modern Royalty, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 18:31:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12513672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtforpedro/pseuds/vtforpedro
Summary: In which Bilbo takes a holiday and meets a royal family.





	biarritz

The worst thing about inheriting property in Biarritz, right off la Côte des Basques, is the fact that it comes with little privacy. The famed beach of royals and celebrities attracts tourists in droves. Casinos, museums, more cafes than you can shake a stick at, and the surf attracts people like moths to luxurious flames. It is a flurry of activity in the summer months and down season only slightly less so.

The best thing about inheriting property in Biarritz, right off la Côte des Basques, is the fact that it is something that occurs at all. Who would not love and cherish a small home right off of the beach, sandy flagstones leading to a sweeping veranda lined with marram grass?

Property is extraordinarily hard to come by in this little corner of the world and more expensive than most hearts can bear. But this home has been passed down through a few generations and is dearly beloved.

It is a little thing, with two bedrooms, one bathroom, a sitting room, and a truly wondrous view of the open sea and foamy waves. It sits nestled in a cozy neighborhood filled with whitewashed homes and rickety fences, a few minutes from a bustling shopping center filled with the aromas of coffee and macarons. It is idealistically French in every way and a well kept secret these days.

Once upon a time this home was fit for a small family and enjoyed every summer. Now there is no family, only a one Bilbo Baggins, and he does not share the knowledge of his small cottage with many. He has enough relatives that have asked to use the place over time that he knows better than to let anyone else know. The home is his and his alone, though he knows Belladonna Baggins might have had a few words to say about that.

She would have wanted him to bring someone special there, he knows. But there hasn’t been anyone special in many years and that doesn’t seem likely to change anytime soon.

What’s important is his book and the laptop it is being written on. That’s more than enough for him and he gladly settles into his two week holiday at the cottage, surges of inspiration doing his writing some good.

It’s a warm day and he is sitting on his lounger on the veranda, his bare feet the only exposed skin outside of his massive yellow umbrella, with his laptop on his lap, the keys clacking away as he writes. He has been going nonstop for the last two days, ever since he dropped his luggage off in his bedroom, and he feels as if he won’t be stopping anytime soon. Only for the occasional need of a cocktail, like the Pina Colada melting on the wicker end table next to him.

If he is lucky, he will make enough headway on his novel before he returns to England that it will be out by winter. He won’t tell that to Gandalf, however, as he doesn’t feel like being held to his word.

He is interrupted by the sounds of multiple car doors being slammed shut. It is a loud, unexpected racket compared to the breeze and the distant calls of beachgoers. He lifts his eyes from his laptop screen and twists around, looking past his home and toward the street that he can see between the cottage and the home next to him.

He can see two large, black SUVs have taken up residence at the large two story home and has to hold in a groan.

Every year he has come here, that home hasn’t been occupied, but it seems his luck is running out. It was so pleasant to not have neighbors on that side; on the other side there is another little cottage occupied by an elderly couple that have lived there for as long as Bilbo can remember and never cause any sort of ruckus.

The larger home to the west of him has the heavy promise of family that he isn’t particularly fond of. And considering there is more than one vehicle, it looks like that might just be the case.

Or perhaps not, when Bilbo squints a little more, and looks at the group gathering in front of the home.

They are men, all tall, all wearing black suits with sunglasses, and look as if they might hit the gym every day. They’re also all bald, which somehow only adds to their bodyguard flavor.

Bilbo doesn’t bother holding in this groan.

Not only is he to have neighbors, he is to have a celebrity or politician and possibly their family as neighbors.

He grunts and turns moodily back to his laptop, remembering to save his progress before he continues, trying not to pay too much attention to his hair standing on end, which feels distinctly like being watched.

Bilbo shakes it off and continues writing, eventually forgetting all about his new neighbors as the peaceful sound of gulls and the occasional rasp of wind lure him into the sense of peace he so often gets from Biarritz. He drinks his cocktail, makes decent progress on his book, and doesn’t go inside until the sun begins to set and his laptop battery reminds him that it needs the occasional charge.

He makes himself dinner, showers, and then takes another cocktail out onto the veranda to watch the stars for a while. And if he decides to catch a glimpse of his neighbor’s home and sees the men in dark suits following the perimeter of the property outside, well, he’s the only one to notice.

Or so he hopes.

——

Bilbo starts his morning late and takes coffee out on the veranda as he does every day. It is late for dolphins and he wonders if he should try to get up earlier tomorrow to catch a glimpse of them but he knows that is fairly unlikely. He has enjoyed his leisurely mornings and doesn’t think he’ll be able to break the habit.

When he finishes the last dregs of his cup, he turns his gaze to his neighbor’s home and sighs to see the men from the previous day outside, two in the back, and at least one that he can see out front. There are no signs of who might be staying there otherwise and Bilbo decides to ignore them and hopefully be ignored as he goes inside to get dressed for a trip to the market.

He steps out the front door and goes to unlock his bicycle from the porch, glancing toward the other home. There are now three SUVs outside and even more men milling about the drive and walking in and out of the home. He watches them for a moment, fumbling with his bicycle lock, and notices perhaps a bit belatedly that two of the men are watching him in return and touching their ears, as if they are armed with earpieces.

Bilbo hastily clambers onto his bicycle and sets off down the road toward the market, trying to put it out of his mind.

It takes two hours but eventually he rides back to his cottage with a basketful of groceries for the next few days. When he parks and locks up his bicycle, he notices there is another vehicle at the large home. It is a sleek black sedan adorned with two flags, small enough that Bilbo has to squint, but is eventually able to make out as the Ereborean flag with its royal blue color and a shield surrounded by seven silver stars.

Bilbo takes his groceries inside, his mind whirling with the possibilities.

He knows very little of Erebor. It is a tiny mountainous country near Sweden that rarely makes the news and when it does, it is with no scandals but prosperity. He vaguely remembers that Erebor has a king but quickly brushes the thought that the king might be in Biarritz aside.

The home might be large but it’s no mansion and doesn’t seem as grand of a place that a king and his family would come to stay. Perhaps a Prime Minister or something like that.

Bilbo can only hope they don’t have small children, despite actually liking them. Though perhaps those bodyguards of theirs would be able to keep an eye on them and wrangle in any trouble.

He unloads his groceries in his small kitchen and before he knows what he’s doing, he collects his laptop and sits on the sofa, opening it up and typing _Erebor_ into the Google search bar.

There are a few recent news articles - _Erebor Dollar At All Time High, Erebor Ambassador To Visit UN_ \- and pictures of the country that he glances at. It is a beautiful region with sprawling snow-capped mountains and grassy meadows and fir-lined forests with wondrous wildflowers growing by expansive lakes. He is rather taken by it until he decides to look up the royal family.

Bilbo is glad he’s sitting down when he gets a look at the king. A striking man, tall, with pale skin and dark hair with a dusting of gray by his temples and in his thick, well-groomed beard. He is a broad-shouldered fellow with a menacing brow and crystal clear blue eyes that look sharp and piercing in the few close-ups that Bilbo gets a look at.

He gapes as he scrolls through more pictures of the king in finely tailored suits or formal uniforms with red sashes over the same blue as the country’s flag with numerous pins on his breast.

King Thorin Durin is really something else, Bilbo has to say, and consciously closes his mouth when he feels it hanging open.

He reads up on him a little, surprised at his fairly young age for a king, and doesn’t see a wife or children mentioned anywhere. He’s a little ashamed of how happy he is at that, when he realizes that he is looking up a monarch, not a potential suitor that he has met. He scoffs and closes all the webpages he has opened, getting up from the sofa and venturing into the kitchen, trying to shake the image of forget-me-not blue eyes out of his mind.

There is lunch to make after all.

He has a bucketful of heirloom tomatoes that he plans to use to make a nice herbed salad with parmesan crisps to go with it. He pulls out the ingredients he needs for it all and is beginning to cut into his tomatoes when there are three solid knocks on his door, loud enough to startle him.

Bilbo is glad that he does not lose his grip on his knife and sends a quick glare down the hall, tempted to ignore the caller. It might be the elderly couple, however, as they occasionally bring him vegetables from their garden, so he wipes his hands off and begins to head down the hall.

There are three more heavy knocks on his door before he can get there and Bilbo scowls at the blatant rudeness that he does not encounter often in Biarritz.

He unlocks and yanks his door open, opening his mouth to make a sharp remark, but it gets caught in his lungs before he can. The sight before him is rather distressing.

A humongous bald man in a black suit is towering on his doorstep, inspecting Bilbo with beady eyes and a thunderous expression. He is neatly bearded and impeccably put together but he is rather frightening nonetheless.

“Yes, sorry, how can I help you?” Bilbo asks, remembering his manners, but forgetting his French.

The man raises a thick eyebrow, his gaze sweeping up and down Bilbo’s person. “Fundinson, head of security for His Majesty,” he says in a gruff tone, his accent thick and distinctly Ereborean.

Bilbo gapes at him for a moment, then coughs when the man glowers. “Oh,” he peeps, bouncing on his toes. “Hello. Erm… is there anything I can do for you?”

“You’ve not been here on his previous visits. You should know that there will be an armed guard monitoring the property until His Majesty returns home. Is it just you or will there be others?” the man asks, glancing past Bilbo into his home.

Bilbo is feeling discomfited. He is attempting to process still that _His Majesty of bloody Erebor_ is his neighbor when Fundinson gives him a long look. “Right, sorry. Hm? Oh! No, no, it’s just me,” Bilbo answers, though he is wondering if he even should be speaking with this man. Surely it isn’t his business. “Does that… matter?”

Fundinson grunts. “Aye, it matters,” he answers, but he doesn’t seem likely to expand on that. “Understand that His Majesty is on holiday. He does not wish to be disturbed. I don’t want him to be disturbed. I don’t want media here. I don’t want pictures. What I want is a quiet week. Do you understand me, laddie?”

Bilbo opens his mouth, then closes it, blinking a few times. “Ye-es… I do believe you’ve made your point. I don’t exactly plan to jump on Twitter and announce His Majesty is my royal neighbor,” he says, somewhat crossly. “I’m on holiday myself and looking for peace and quiet. I won’t bother him if he won’t bother me.”

“How long are you staying?”

“I truly don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Bilbo says, much more crossly.

“Do you not?” Fundinson asks, dry as the sand that surrounds them. “Would you like me to explain it to you?”

Bilbo puffs up. “Listen here, it’s you lot that are threatening my holiday,” he says, standing taller. “I am here for another week and that’s more than you should know. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have lunch waiting on the counter. Tell His Majesty I said hello.” He pulls back and shuts his door, bolting it quickly.

He sniffs and turns on his heel, stalking back to his kitchen, and goes back to his tomatoes, glad when there is not another knock on his door. The nerve of some people. He is hardly going to cater to any royalty and the details of his holiday are certainly none of their business. Kings or no.

Bilbo finishes up making his lunch and pours himself a Bloody Mary, then takes everything out onto the veranda and sets it on his little table. He hurries back inside to fetch his laptop and brings it out with him, settling down and opening up his social media accounts to browse as he munches on his tomato salad.

Of course that doesn’t stop him from imagining a certain king. A certain king that is now his neighbor. A certain king that apparently has no wife and no children.

Bilbo nearly chokes on his salad and aggressively scrolls through Facebook. That is none of his business.

Would he even see the king while he is there? It’s hard to imagine that he’ll be going down to the beach and enjoying the surf but why else would he be here?

Bilbo finishes his lunch and opens up his latest chapter, reaching for his drink. He takes a long sip of it, sets it aside, and finds his gaze being drawn by the large home. There are the two ever-present bodyguards outside on the back veranda but a spot of movement catches his eye on the balcony of the second story.

Something in Bilbo’s heart seizes.

There, standing on the balcony in a white button-up shirt and black sacks, is a very familiar figure. Broad-shouldered, tall, with a neat beard.

It is too far away to see if his eyes are as blue as his pictures had claimed.

Bilbo swallows, tightening his hands into fists, and stares at the monarch.

King Thorin turns his head and looks right at him. He stares at Bilbo for a moment, arresting, and certainly has no idea what he’s doing to his insides. Then he turns away and walks through the doorway back into the home.

Bilbo lets out a shaky breath, lifting his hands to wipe them off on his shirt, and blinks to himself.

“Well then,” he murmurs, turning back to his laptop. “Bother it.”

——

Bilbo tries to forget about sighting the king next door over the next two days. Thankfully he does not see him again, so he cannot be caught staring, and goes about eating his weight in French cuisine and filling his veins with numerous different types of alcohol. It is an ideal holiday and he would not trade it for anything. It seems to be what his heart needs after spending so long in rainy, dreary England.

He decides to spend his morning walking along the beach and smiles at his fellow beachgoers. He watches people surf and children build sandcastles and enjoys the peacefulness of it, despite the fact that there are numerous crowds. There are still many sights to see and it is an endlessly beautiful place and he regrets when his belly starts to grumble, reminding him that it is nearing lunchtime. He vows to take another walk later in the evening, after he has written a chapter or two, and ventures back to his cottage.

When Bilbo gets close to his cottage, he sees two boys at the edge of the sandy beach, sitting near to the large home, and there are two men dressed in button-ups and khakis standing near to them. He feels his heart pick up pace because they are very obviously bodyguards and he wonders who these two children are. Surely he had not misread what the internet had said about the king’s lack of children.

He nears his veranda when the sight of one of the boys, a brunet, waving wildly toward him catches his eye. He pauses, looks behind himself to make sure there is no one else there, then looks back toward the boy, and hesitantly waves back.

Then the child is scrambling to his feet and running toward him, quickly followed by one of the bald men, and Bilbo waits, feeling infinitely awkward suddenly.

“Hello!” the boy cheers as he get close to Bilbo, grinning widely. “Are you on holiday too?”

The boy can’t be more than seven, Bilbo thinks, and the bodyguard looks mildly dismayed, so Bilbo suspects he is quite an outgoing little seven year old. He is very cute in his swim shorts and is holding a pail in his hand, though Bilbo wonders what he is meaning to do with it, so far from the water.

“Oh, erm,” he says, bouncing on his toes, and nods. “Yes, I am, in fact. This is my holiday getaway home. How about you?”

The boy nods emphatically. “Yeah! We haven’t been here in _years,”_ he says, with the utmost affront, as if it is a great crime. “You weren’t here before. What’s your name?”

“Bilbo,” Bilbo says, smiling at the boy.

“What’s your last name?” the boy asks expectantly.

“Baggins,” Bilbo says with a laugh, glancing at the bodyguard, who is peering at him a little too closely for comfort. “And may I ask your name?”

“Kili!” the boy cheers, then sticks his hand out very solemnly, and with an air of great importance.

Bilbo bites his tongue so he won’t laugh and shakes little Kili’s hand as gravely as he can. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Kili,” he says, then looks over at the other boy, who is still playing in the sand. “Is that your brother?”

Kili nods. “That’s Fili but he’s shy,” he whispers, then turns and looks at his brother. “Fili! _Nadad!_ Come over, he’s nice!”

The other boy looks over and seems to be weighing his choices before he stands. He says something to his bodyguard and then they both begin to walk over. Fili is perhaps eleven or twelve, Bilbo thinks, when he gets close enough to see, and is wearing a very serious expression for a child. He is also in his swim shorts, which are flaming red, and his hair looks as if it hasn’t been brushed in a week, something he seems to share with his brother.

“Hello Fili,” Bilbo says, smiling kindly, but trying not to squirm when Fili narrows his eyes, inspecting him as closely as both bodyguards are now doing.

“Hello,” he says, then looks at his brother. He says something in a different language, Khuzdul, if Bilbo remembers correctly, and looks unsure.

“I am too allowed!” Kili shoots back, a stubborn edge to his brow. Then he grins as he looks back to Bilbo. “We want to build a sandcastle but we have to wait for _Indad_ but he takes forever when he’s on the phone. He promised to help!”

 _“Indad?”_ Bilbo repeats a little uncertainly.

“Uncle,” Fili says with some impatience, giving his brother a slight look, as if he is revealing secrets he shouldn’t.

“Oh!” Bilbo says and suddenly it makes quite a bit more sense. He knew that he had read the king didn’t have children and the appearance of these two boys was rather confusing. It seems the king has taken his nephews on a holiday and that warms something inside of Bilbo, although he doesn’t know these people at all. “Well, hopefully he’ll finish up with his call soon. I am sure you’re going to make quite a sandcastle.”

Kili beams. _“Indad_ is really good at them,” he says. “Are you?”

Bilbo chuckles. “Good at building sandcastles? Goodness, I can’t remember the last time I built one. Probably when I was Fili’s age,” he says, smiling as he looks at the older boy.

Fili is watching him closely, as if he doesn’t know what to make of him, before he looks at his brother. “Uncle will probably be another hour,” he says, sounding rather sour about it.

“No-o!” Kili says. “He promised he wouldn’t!”

“Let’s get back to the house and see,” one of the bodyguards, Kili’s, says.

“I’m talking to Bilbo!” Kili says and slumps his shoulders.

“Fili, Kili,” another voice calls, one that is rather deep, and they all look toward the large home.

Bilbo has no doubts about who is walking across the massive veranda, certainly not still on the phone, and immediately feels his heart give quite a kickstart. Sweat suddenly coats his palms and he swallows, wishing that Kili hadn’t approached him, because he is certainly not ready to meet a king, especially such a handsome one as King Thorin is and, and…

Bilbo’s mouth goes dry when the monarch begins to cross through the marram grass and into the sand. He is struck first by Thorin’s clothes, which are a simple grey t-shirt and black shorts, nothing remotely fancy, and he feels a little foolish for thinking Thorin might have dressed up for a day on the beach. The second thing he notices is his hair, which is nearly as much disarray as his nephews’, as if he had run his hand through it numerous times.

He does not look like a monarch. He looks like a normal, every day human being, although a very good-looking one. Surprisingly, this realization does away with most of Bilbo’s internal panic.

Thorin comes to stand behind his nephews and rests his hands on their shoulders and those clear blue eyes look at Bilbo. He glances at Kili’s bodyguard, who gives a nod, which must mean something, because Thorin nods back, and then looks at Bilbo again.

Bilbo, who is trying not to feel dizzy over Thorin’s rather imposing height.

“Erm, hello,” he says, glad his voice has not faltered. “It seems we’re neighbors on holiday. Your nephews were kind enough to say hello. Bilbo Baggins.”

Thorin continues to inspect him closely, then gives a very regal nod of his head. “Thorin Durin,” he says and extends his hand. “This is your home?”

Bilbo’s heart skips a few beats as he reaches out to shake Thorin’s hand, unsurprised by the firm, steady grip. “Oh, well, yes, it is. It’s been in the family for a few generations. I try to visit it as often as I can but it’s been a few years longer than I would have liked. This last week has been lovely,” he says. “I’ve eaten more macarons than is surely proper.”

Bilbo is embarrassed this has come out of his mouth but Thorin’s features soften and he looks mildly amused.

“When in France,” he says, and looks down at his nephews. “Are you ready to go down to the water?”

Both the boys nod eagerly and Bilbo is glad to see that Fili is finally looking excited. But it is Kili who looks at Bilbo and grins. “Do you want to come build sandcastles with us?” he asks. “You’re supposed to when you’re at the beach.”

Bilbo is quite taken aback and gapes a bit at the boy. “Oh! Well, goodness, if only I had known that,” he says, straightening out his shirt, glancing at Thorin, who looks as surprised as he feels. “Really, I’d hate to intrude, and ah, I was going to get back to writing.”

Kili looks quite put out by this but Fili perks up. “What do you write?” he asks.

“I’ve written quite a few children’s and young adult’s books,” Bilbo says. “I’m working on a fantasy trilogy right now.”

“Anything we might know?” Thorin asks, sounding genuinely interested. “They’re both avid readers.”

Bilbo clears his throat. “Ah, maybe?” he says, looking at the boys. “I’ve written _The Red Wyrm, A Hobbit’s Tale-”_

Kili gasps, cutting Bilbo off, and grabs his uncle’s hand, tugging on it. _“The Red Wyrm, Indad!_ That’s my favorite! Did you really write it?” he asks excitedly, looking at Bilbo with wide, curious eyes.

Bilbo chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yes, I did. I’m very glad to hear it’s your favorite,” he says, something warm and cozy settling in his chest.

“It really is, I’ve read it to him for the last year,” Thorin says and he is smiling. “A small world. Come, let’s let Mister Baggins continue writing.” He inclines his head at Bilbo, then gestures for the boys to follow him.

Kili looks as if he’s going to argue, sticking his lip out in a pout, before he sighs, loud and long. “Maybe you can build sandcastles with us tomorrow!” he says, then turns and begins to hurry off. His bodyguard hastens to follow after him.

Fili gives a polite wave before he goes after his brother, his own bodyguard following close behind, and that is when Bilbo takes notice of the bodyguard that had come to his front door, Fundinson, standing on the veranda of Thorin’s home. He is taken by the sudden desire to laugh, as the large man is wearing civilian clothes, and looks wildly out of place in them. He comes closer, however, when Thorin lingers, and that saps all of Bilbo’s amusement from him.

He looks at Thorin and lightly clears his throat. “You have very sweet nephews.”

Thorin smiles again, which makes Bilbo’s treacherous heart thunder, and nods. “Thank you. They get it after their mother,” he says, then begins to turn away. “Mister Baggins.”

“Your Majesty,” Bilbo says, feeling a little silly, but it seems the proper way to address him.

Thorin pauses and glances over his shoulder. “Thorin,” he says, then begins to walk after his nephews, his towering bodyguard, even taller than him, following after him.

Fundinson gives Bilbo a long, calculating look as he walks by, which makes him feel a bit uncomfortable in his own skin, until he realizes the permission Thorin has given him. His heart immediately picks up pace and his fingertips begin to feel tingly. He watches the family go for a while, then realizes staring is quite possibly rude, and hastens back into his own home.

Bilbo makes himself a lunch of a salad of field greens, prosciutto, sun-dried cherries, and a cassis vinaigrette. He takes his meal on the veranda as he always does, with a raspberry tea, and his laptop on his lap. He finds he cannot concentrate on much more than his Twitter account while he eats and if he looks up King Thorin Durin, well, no one is around to see it. His tweets are mostly political, sometimes focusing on the good deeds of people, and Bilbo wonders if he writes them himself or has a team that does it for him.

When Bilbo looks out at the beach, it takes him a little time, but he eventually sees the family and their bodyguards. He watches them for a while over his laptop until the itch to write gets to be too much for him and he opens up his latest chapter. After finishing his tea, he sets to typing away, and the hours melt by.

It is not until the sun begins to lower in the sky that his laptop warns him of a dying battery and he takes it inside to charge it. He makes himself a drink and then sits on his sofa to watch some Netflix until it’s time to make dinner. He gets lost in his binging and is only pulled away from it when a few knocks on his door startle him. He is tempted to ignore it, as two knocks on his door in one week is a bit much, but his curiosity gets the better of him and he stands, making his way down the hall.

He opens the door and blinks quickly.

He is first taken by the bloody king of Erebor standing on his doorstep and opens his mouth, then closes it, before he realizes that Thorin is standing behind his nephews, with three different bodyguards a few feet away.

“Goodness, hello again,” Bilbo says once he has remembered himself.

“Sorry to bother you, Mister Baggins,” Kili says, and it sounds quite rehearsed. He suddenly holds up a copy of _The Red Wyrm,_ which looks a little worse for wear, and beams up at Bilbo. “Can you sign my book, please?”

“Oh! Well yes, I’d be honored to, Kili,” Bilbo says, more than a little surprised, and smiles at the boy.

Thorin gives a nudge to Fili, who steps forward, holding a book in his hands as well. He holds it up.

“We looked you up,” he says. “And you wrote _The Skin-changer_ and it’s one of my favorite books, so…” He looks unsure of himself and Bilbo chuckles.

“I’d be glad to sign it, if you’d like,” he says, then grins when Fili smiles hesitantly and nods.

Thorin looks relieved. “Thank you,” he says. “It’s all they’ve been talking about the last hour. They’d never forgive me if we didn’t try.”

“It’s my pleasure, truly. I’m very pleased you enjoy my books, boys,” Bilbo says, smiling at Thorin, then at the boys. He holds his hands out and they hand over the books, and one of the bodyguards steps closer, handing Thorin a pen, who gives it to Bilbo.

He signs the books with a little message, as he always does, and then hands them back to Fili and Kili. “There you are then,” he says, watching as the boys open the books to look at the autographs, smiling when they both grin.

“Thank you, Mister Baggins!” Kili chirps, hugging the book closer to himself.

“Thank you, Mister Baggins,” Fili chimes, looking quite pleased himself.

“Please do call me Bilbo,” Bilbo says with a laugh. “Did you enjoy your time at the beach?”

They both nod eagerly. _“Indad, Indad!_ Show Bilbo the sandcastle we made,” Kili says, turning to tug on his uncle’s hand.

Thorin stares at Bilbo for a moment, seeming to be assessing, before he sighs as Kili makes an impatient noise. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, where he opens it and browses through it. He eventually turns it over and shows a picture to Bilbo, who tries to ignore that this is a monarch’s phone, the very thing he uses to run a country, more than likely.

It is their sandcastle, large, and looks as if it must have taken them the few hours that they were on the beach.

“Oh my, that’s beautiful! Look at those angular patterns, I’d never have been able to do something like that!”

“Uncle did that part,” Fili says, then points at the picture. “I did the turrets.”

“And they look wonderful,” Bilbo says. “I’m sure it was very fun.”

“You have to come with us tomorrow, Bilbo, then you can have fun, too,” Kili says with a wild grin. “Or do you _have_ to write more?”

Bilbo laughs, looking anywhere but at Thorin. “Well, if I want to publish anymore books, I do,” he says, then huffs a little when Kili wrinkles his nose. “Good gracious, are you sure?” Kili nods his head quickly, so Bilbo finally looks at Thorin, who is peering at him with an arched eyebrow and a slight smile on his lips. “I really would hate to intrude. I’m sure you don’t take many holidays.”

“No, we really don’t,” Thorin says, then looks at Kili. “If Mister Baggins doesn’t want to come, we can’t force him to.”

Kili looks as if he thinks it is highly unsatisfactory that they cannot but he nods nevertheless and looks up at Bilbo solemnly. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says. “But it’ll be lots of fun! Fili is going to try surfing. _Indad_ is going to teach him.”

As Bilbo tries not to think of a soaking wet Thorin, he looks between the family and feels himself cave. “Oh alright,” he says, then laughs a bit at the idea of spending time with a king and his nephews. His holiday is taking a turn he could have never expected. “What, erm, what time should I expect to go?”

Fili and Kili look at Thorin, who still is wearing a small smile. “Ten,” he says. “I have a call at one so we have to be done by 12:30.”  
  
Bilbo nods. “That sounds good to me,” he says, feeling rather nervous already despite his eagerness. “I suppose I’ll see you in the morning then.”

Kili beams and even Fili smiles and Thorin inclines his head. “In the morning,” he says, then gently ushers his nephews along, murmuring something in Khuzdul.

“Bye, Bilbo!” Kili cheers and begins to hurry away, holding his book close.

“Thank you for signing our books,” Fili says politely, then waves, and follows after his brother.

Thorin nods at Bilbo and leaves and Bilbo watches them go for a moment until his heart gets the best of him and he hurries back inside. He immediately heads into the kitchen and makes himself a Long Island, thinking he’ll need it to calm his nerves, or else he’ll be a mess by morning. He does decide to make himself some dinner, salmon rillettes, so he only gets pleasantly tipsy when he has a second cocktail.

The evening passes by quickly enough, with Bilbo perusing his laptop, rereading his latest chapter and making some basic edits. Then he watches _The Great British Baking Show_ for what has to be the hundredth time before it is time for bed. He takes a quick shower, lays out a sensible beach outfit for the morning, and climbs into bed, staring at the ceiling for a while, wondering how he has got to this place.

——

Bilbo wakes rather dreadfully early and blames a certain king and his nephews for it. He dresses for the day and then heads down to the beach, watching the early morning surfers on their ideal waves, and is pleasantly surprised when he sees a group of dolphins. He gladly sits in the sand and watches them as they jump through waves. It is only when his stomach begins to ache that he decides to head back to the cottage and make himself a quick breakfast of toast and eggs and coffee with more milk and sugar than is surely proper.

When ten o’clock rolls around, Bilbo leaves his home, wiping his sweaty palms off on his trousers, and looks toward his neighbors’ place. Fili and Kili are already waiting on the veranda, with their ever present bodyguards, and as soon as they see him, they are dashing over, shouting good mornings. Bilbo suspects that Fili is especially eager to try surfing and doesn’t make mention of how much he chatters alongside his brother. The fact that they are already comfortable enough with him to do so makes something pleasantly cozy settle in his chest.

Thorin joins them eventually with his bodyguard Fundinson in tow, dressed in a black t-shirt and blue swim shorts, holding two surfboards, and Bilbo greets him, trying not to stare at his bulging biceps. The monarch is too attractive for his own good and Bilbo wonders at why he is not married; he may be young for a king but he’s still in his early 40s. Perhaps being a prince and a king never made it easy to find a dependable partner.

Brushing those thoughts aside, Bilbo heads down to the beach with the family, and soon enough is sitting in the sand by the water with Kili, who immediately gets to work on what he vows to be the greatest sandcastle there ever was. Bilbo helps him while taking surreptitious glances out at the ocean, where Fili and Thorin have gone, and Thorin is helping his nephew on his surfboard.

Thorin has not taken his shirt off though it sits nicely on his skin and Bilbo admonishes himself for taking notice. Developing a crush on a monarch while vacationing in France is the very last thing he needs.

When Bilbo and Kili have made a sandcastle worthy of a few pictures on Bilbo’s phone, Kili declares he’d like to go swimming, so Bilbo takes him to the water and watches as he splashes in the waves. He makes light conversation with the bodyguards, Fundinson and Stevens, as the other introduces himself, and decides they are not as terrifying as he originally expected them to be. Fundinson says he has been working with Thorin for twenty-five years and Bilbo suspects they must make for good friends, if they have spent that long in each other’s company.

When it nears 12:30, Fundinson calls for Thorin, and him and Fili make their way out of the water, and Kili follows after them.

“I’m hungry,” the boy declares.

“We’ll eat lunch after my call, Kili,” Thorin says, dripping with water, his hair hanging down on his forehead, which Bilbo tries valiantly not to stare at.

“But that could be hours,” Kili says with a desperation only seven year olds can manage.

“Not if I can help it,” Thorin says drily.  
  
Bilbo smiles to himself as they walk along in the sand and while he is still processing that he is indeed spending time with royals, he is having a good time of it. Kili is a delightful boy and Fili seems good-natured and Bilbo wonders how much of a hand Thorin has in raising them. If he has no children of his own, does that make them his heirs? If it does, then he is walking alongside a future king and a prince, and feels his heart drum away in his breast.

“Can Bilbo eat with us?” Kili asks when they near their homes, looking first at Thorin, then at Bilbo. He beams. “We’re making pizza!”

“Pizza! Goodness, that sounds quite delicious,” Bilbo says with a smile, chuckling as Kili bobs his head eagerly. “I do love homemade pizza but I’ve got my own food to eat before it spoils, you know.” The idea of eating with Thorin and his nephews is a rather overwhelming one.

“We can’t take up all of Mister Baggins’s holiday,” Thorin says, sounding suspiciously amused. “Maybe next time.”

“Like tomorrow?” Kili asks.

Thorin remains quiet for a moment and then stops walking when they are close to the little fence separating the two homes. He looks at Bilbo, inspecting him closely, which is a little intimidating, but he inclines his head. “If Mister Baggins wants to,” he says, resting his hand atop Kili’s head.

The boy giggles, then fights it off, and looks up at Bilbo, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Bilbo is rather torn. He feels if he accepts the offer, he will no doubt make a fool out of himself, and forever remember this as the holiday that he embarrassed himself in front of a very handsome king. He does not know proper etiquette although he wonders how much of it would be applicable on a holiday at a beach home. But then… the idea that Thorin seems to have some amount of trust in him to not be dangerous and that he will treat his nephews well is really quite something else. It makes Bilbo’s blood thrum and he looks at the family, who are all staring back at him, and decides that he only lives once, and takes the plunge.

“I’d love to,” he says, smiling a bit. “But only on two conditions.” He puts on a very stern face as he looks at the boys. “That I am allowed to bring dessert…” The boys grin. “…and that you call me Bilbo.” He directs this at Thorin, who is watching him intently.

Thorin simply stares for a time and then he smiles and it is wide and beautiful, full of teeth, and he nods. “Bilbo,” he says, his voice rich like honey.

It does terrible things to Bilbo’s heart. He stands a bit taller and grins. “Well then, I shall see you lot tomorrow! I’ll be looking forward to it,” he says, bouncing on his toes.

“At five,” Thorin says, then gestures at the boys. “Let’s get cleaned up. You can get the kitchen ready while I’m on my call.”

The boys cheer, say quick goodbyes to Bilbo, and then bound off toward the large home, their bodyguards following in their wake. Thorin chuckles and looks at Bilbo, inclining his head, before he is off after them, followed by Fundinson, who Bilbo swears rolls his eyes, and wonders briefly at it, before he goes onto his own veranda.

He washes his legs off with the hose before he goes inside and then immediately heads for a shower to get the rest of the sand out of questionable places.

Despite his worries, he is undeniably excited, and feels as if he walks on clouds for the remainder of the day.  
  
——

Bilbo finds that he has another early morning and spends it on the beach while trying not to think of all the disastrous ways the evening might go. He works himself up into a bit of a panic, despite the pleasant lull of the waves, and when he realizes he’s quietly ranting to himself, he decides that he is being ridiculous and heads back to the cottage to get on his bicycle and go to the market before it gets busy. He promised dessert and he will calm himself down by making it.

He decides to buy what he needs to make a tarte tatin, hoping that the Durin family likes apples, but buys a dozen macarons to go along with it, just in case. After gathering what he needs, he rides back to his cottage, and after a quick breakfast, he immediately sets to work on the dessert. It will be ready to go by five and he can write for the rest of the day rather than worry over it.

Once the apples have caramelized and the puff pastry has browned, Bilbo covers the dish and leaves it on the counter for later. He makes himself a bellini, then goes out onto the veranda with his laptop and sets to writing. It is not hard to get back into the groove and he spends many hours working on a full two chapters, which he thinks is very good progress, and proudly gets himself two more bellinis. The alcohol will have been burned out of his blood by five, he hopes.

By the time three o’clock comes around, Bilbo is getting decidedly impatient, and takes his laptop inside to charge it. He settles in to watch more Netflix while he waits but still finds himself peering at the clock every ten minutes or so.

It is rather torturous but eventually it does get to be a few minutes before five and he hurries into his bedroom to dress in something a bit nicer than his beach clothes. He hopes that it is enough and wipes his sweaty palms off on his trousers for the nth time before he grabs the tarte tatin and macarons and makes his way out of the cottage.

As he crosses his small yard and heads for the large home next to him, the sight of the ever present bodyguards makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. What if they turn him away?

They do not. Rather, they seem to be expecting him, and one greets him by his name and leads him to the front door, which he opens for Bilbo.

Bilbo steps into the foyer and begins to look around but the sight of Fundinson making his way toward him stops him in his tracks and he swallows drily.

“Hello,” he peeps.

Fundinson glares at the plate in his hands and Bilbo clears his throat. “Ah, it’s a tarte tatin. Apples and… and pastry. And some bakery-made macarons,” he says hesitantly. “I promised dessert.”

“Dwalin,” a familiar deep voice says and Bilbo and Fundinson both look toward the hall, where Thorin himself has appeared. “He doesn’t mean to poison us.” Thorin smiles as he steps closer, then arches an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Bilbo laughs nervously and though it is a little high in pitch, he works through his internal panic. “I’m afraid that would ruin my holiday,” he says and smiles. “And my latest book.”

Thorin chuckles, a truly wondrous sound, and gestures for Bilbo to follow him. “This way,” he says and begins to stride off down the hallway.

Bilbo hurries to follow him, peering around, and is impressed by how tastefully decorated the home is, though he doesn’t know what else he expected. It is colored in whites and blues and sandy tans with whitewashed furniture and sea-themed art and looks very much like a classic beach home, with the occasional French flare.

Thorin leads him past a wide, large sitting room, which has a very big television and a comfortable looking sofa, and into the kitchen. It is a cozy space, though the appliances look to be brand new, and gleam in the light. There is a dining table just off the kitchen, which offers a splendid view of the ocean, and the setting sun above it.

Bilbo is rather taken with it and nearly misses Thorin telling him where he can put the dessert. He sets it on the counter and is about to open his mouth to ask where Fili and Kili are, but a happy voice stops him.

“Bilbo!” Kili cheers and he is darting into the kitchen, grinning as bright as the sun. “Fili’s painting, come see!” He takes up Bilbo’s hand and begins to drag him out of the room.

Bilbo glances back at Thorin, who is watching with some amusement, but the monarch merely gestures with his chin for him to follow, so follow he does. Not that there aren’t bodyguards milling in every room, it seems, including Dwalin, who is in the sitting room and watches Bilbo pass it like a hawk.

Kili takes him down a short hall, past the stairs, and to a room that faces the ocean. It seems like it was meant to be a bedroom by the size of it but there is only a sofa, another television with video game consoles by it, and bookshelves filled with books and boardgames. In the corner of the room, there is a large easel, and Fili is standing in front of it with a set of paints next to him.

“Fili, show Bilbo your painting!” Kili says, pulling Bilbo further into the room.

Fili jumps but he looks at them and sighs, then steps away from the painting and gestures at it. “I wanted to get one of the sun sets that wasn’t just from a photo,” he says.

“Oh, Fili, it’s _wonderful,”_ Bilbo breathes as he gets a look at the painting. It is not quite done yet but it a very pretty depiction of the sunset over the beach and done with some obvious skill. “Goodness, you’re a very good artist.”

Fili goes pink around the nose but he grins and nods. “I’ve been painting since I was four,” he says proudly and turns back to his easel. “Is it time for dinner yet?”

 _“Indad_ hasn’t made it yet,” Kili says and wrinkles his nose. “He’s making chicken and mushrooms!”

Fili snorts but doesn’t say anything and Bilbo hums. “Do you not like mushrooms?” he asks Kili.

Kili shakes his head quickly. “They taste like rubber!” he declares with vehemence. “They’re gross!”

“You don’t know what rubber tastes like,” Fili says and Bilbo wouldn’t be surprised if he rolled his eyes. “That’s why Uncle is making you green beans instead.”

Kili sighs as if he has suffered a great burden but he nods and pulls Bilbo over to the bookshelves. He begins a rapid discussion of his most favorite books (making sure to assure Bilbo that _The Red Wyrm_ is still his most, _most_ favorite) and points out the boardgames he likes and then shows Bilbo the video game consoles and explains what the latest game he is playing is about in rather worrying detail. Bilbo simply nods and asks questions in the right places and laughs very genuinely at Kili’s enthusiasm.

Fili chimes in now and then as he paints but it is not long before the delicious aromas of food reaches their noses and draws them from the room. They cross the home and head into the kitchen, where Thorin is standing at the stove, and putting together their dinner.

Bilbo’s heart feels as if it might give up on him. Seeing the broad expanse of Thorin’s back, in his handsome blue button-up, and watching him do something as simple as cooking is rather too much. It is utterly domestic and Bilbo wonders how much time he has when he is home to cook or if the only time he is able to is when they are on holiday.

Thorin looks up from the sauté pan and smiles. “Ten minutes,” he says, then laughs when he gets a look at Fili’s hands. “Wash up, Fili.”

Fili goes to the sink and begins to scrub himself clean while Kili goes up to Thorin and stands on his toes, looking at the pan and wrinkling his nose again. Thorin huffs and gently nudges him away from the stove until Kili catches sight of the tarte tatin and perks up.

“What’s that?”

“Bilbo made dessert,” Thorin answers.

“What kind?”

They all look at Bilbo, who clears his throat a few times. “Ah, a tarte tatin. Classically French, seemed rather… appropriate,” he says, then coughs a little as Kili furrows his brow. “It’s apples and caramel and puff pastry.”

“Mmm,” Kili hums and grins, then looks at his brother. “Fili hates apples.”

Bilbo has a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and looks at Fili, frowning. “Oh, Fili, I am very sorry,” he says. “I also brought macarons in a variety of flavors.”

“That’s okay,” Fili says and waves his hand. “I like macarons, it’s fine. Kili and Uncle Thorin love apples anyway.”

Bilbo is still feeling disappointed but he nods and leans against the kitchen island. Thorin turns away from the stove and walks to the fridge, opening it and pulling out a bottle of white wine. He holds it up toward Bilbo and Bilbo smiles.

“I’d love some, thank you,” he says.

“Sit at the table, if you would like,” Thorin says as he opens the wine. “How about you two set the table?” He looks at his nephews.

Fili and Kili nod and make quite a lot of noise as they gather plates and silverware, carrying them to the table, and setting it rather haphazardly. Bilbo suspects they normally have someone do it for them; he suspects they have someone do everything for them but he quite likes seeing them act as normal children.

Thorin, on the other hand, is still a bit hard to wrap his head around.

Thorin hands him a glass filled with a generous amount of wine and when Bilbo takes it from him, their fingers brush, and Bilbo does everything he can to not blush or stutter when he says his thanks and instead hurries to the table. He takes a seat where Fili indicates and leans back in the chair, admonishing himself for the rapid beat of his heart.

The boys take their seats at the table and begin a lively conversation on what they have planned for tomorrow. It seems another morning of surfing and sandcastles is in order, then a day at a museum, and finally a night out on the town, where they will likely dine in a very expensive restaurant. Bilbo listens to them with a smile on his face, occasionally peeking out of the corner of his eye at Thorin.

Eventually Thorin comes over to the table and takes up a plate and Bilbo is tempted to offer him help until he notices that the serving Thorin puts on the plate is obviously going to be Kili’s, by the way Thorin methodically plucks out mushrooms from the cream sauce.

He brings the plate over, along with the pan, and goes about putting a large amount of chicken and mushrooms on each plate. It is a simple meal but it smells fantastic and Bilbo’s stomach gurgles as he waits for Thorin to seat himself at the head of the table. Once he does, he gestures for them to eat, and begins to cut into his own chicken.

Bilbo eats, feeling very self-conscious about it, and only feeling a bit better when he watches Fili and Kili shovel their food into the mouths. They chatter in between bites and Bilbo listens and drinks his wine, offering the occasional input.

“Where do you live, Bilbo?” Kili asks after a while.

“Oh, ah, near London. About thirty minutes south of it, in a little village,” Bilbo says. “Quite a beautiful place although it is nice to be close to the city.”

“I’ve never been to London,” Kili says, looking gleefully interested, but Fili huffs.

“Yes you have, you just don’t remember it. You were a baby,” he says, taking a drink of his soda. “I want to go back, I really liked it.”

“You and your mother both,” Thorin says with a chuckle. “We’ll go back, Fili. Maybe next year.”

“Is your mother back in Erebor?” Bilbo asks, curious, and hopes that he is not crossing any lines he shouldn’t be.

But Fili merely rolls his eyes. “No, she’s in the Bahamas with Dad,” he says. “They wanted to be by themselves.”

“So we decided to take our own holiday,” Thorin says, rather sternly. “Your parents deserve the break.”

“I know,” Fili says and sounds a bit softer. “But I’d like to go to the Bahamas too. I want to paint the beaches there.”

“You’ll get your chance, I’m sure,” Bilbo says a bit hesitantly. “I’ve never been there either. I’m lucky enough to have my cottage here but maybe I should travel a bit further than France.” He looks at Thorin. “You must have seen quite a lot of the world.”

“Not enough for pleasure,” Thorin answers with a wry smile. “There are places I’d like to see that I won’t be in and out of in twenty-four hours. Erebor is a beautiful country in the meantime.”

“Have you ever been to Erebor?” Fili asks Bilbo.

“Oh dear, no, I’m afraid I haven’t. From what I’ve seen of it, it looks a very fine place. I wouldn’t mind visiting.”

“Come stay with us, Bilbo! I’ll show you all around the palace,” Kili says excitedly.

Bilbo gapes at the boy and blushes and stammers a little until Thorin laughs, which warms him right up and does away with some of his nerves.

“If Bilbo came to Erebor, it’d be to do more than visit the palace,” Thorin says, smiling at his nephew, then looking at Bilbo. “But you’re his favorite author. It’d be an honor to show it to you.”

Kili nods sagely at this and Bilbo is still busy gathering himself and takes a while longer to respond.

“Oh, well, goodness,” he manages. “And I’d be honored to see it, I’m sure! I’m afraid I won’t be due for another holiday for a year or so, Kili, but perhaps I’ll come visit your mountains.”

“There’s good skiing in the winter,” Thorin says, and sounds as if he’s teasing, which is really very unfair.

“I’ve never been skiing before,” Bilbo says a little drily and tries not to grin when Thorin chuckles.

“I can teach you,” Fili offers, peering between his uncle and Bilbo, something shining in his blue eyes. “I’m good at it.”

“Good gracious, this is if I even come to Erebor,” Bilbo says, feeling a bit overwhelmed. He will be lucky if the boys even remember him after their holiday, let alone look forward to him coming to visit their country. Or visiting _them._

“You should. You’ll like it,” Fili says eagerly and grins. “I know you will.”

Bilbo huffs and takes a large gulp of his wine. “Perhaps I will then,” he allows and smiles helplessly when Fili and Kili beam at him.

Thorin is staring rather intently at him and just when Bilbo is beginning to feel scrutinized, the king looks away and at his nephews. “Ready for dessert?”

The boys cheer and Thorin smiles, standing and going to fetch the tarte tatin. He gets three plates and brings everything to the table, handing Fili the box of macarons, and then offers Bilbo a knife. He takes it, wondering a little at why, until he realizes belatedly that he is meant to serve it, and hastily stands. He cuts generous portions of the tarte and serves Thorin, Kili and himself, still a bit sad that Fili won’t be partaking.

But Fili looks happy enough to peruse the box of macarons and pulls out a chocolate one, taking a big bite of it, and looks content.

Bilbo nibbles on his dessert, looking between Thorin and Kili, and while the boy immediately begins to stuff his face, Thorin takes more time. And then he _groans._

Bilbo fumbles a bit with his fork and fights a losing battle against a blush but it is a rather obscene noise. The boys don’t seem to notice, busy with their desserts, but when Thorin groans on his second bite, Bilbo coughs.

“I take it to mean that you like it?” he asks, sweating a bit under his collar.

“Amazing,” Thorin says, looking at Bilbo, and grins, looking very boyish indeed. “You’ll have to make it again if you come to Erebor.”

Bilbo bursts into laughter, tipping his head back, and shakes it. “I think I won’t be able to say no next year when I’m due for a holiday,” he says and smiles at the thought. “And how shall I inform you I’m in the country? Shall I tag you on Twitter?”

“You can,” Thorin says with a smile that’s bordering on playful. “Or I can give you an email that you can reach someone at the palace at.”

Bilbo’s amusement drains out of him. That sounds like a serious offer and the idea that the boys, that even _Thorin_ might want to see him again, to actually spend time with him, is nearly too much for him to process. He has done nothing special, not really; he may be the author of Fili and Kili’s favorite books but that does not mean they truly know each other. There is a great amount of trust already put into him and it is simultaneously overwhelming and exhilarating.

The desire to visit Erebor is strong in him suddenly and he aches to think he will have to wait to see it.

“I suppose you’ll have to then,” he says, smiling widely. “I’d quite like that.”

Thorin inclines his head and turns back to his tarte tatin, thankfully not making anymore noises as he eats it, though he does look pleased.

They finish their desserts and when Thorin stands and begins to gather the dishes, Bilbo hurries to help him. They take everything to the sink and Bilbo offers to wash, which is shot down very firmly, until he insists that he has a hand in cleaning up. They go back and forth for a moment, arguing about who is a guest and who isn’t, until Bilbo wins, and Thorin holds up his hands and lets him take up residence at the sink to do the washing.

The boys giggle as they watch and then they dart off to the sitting room, taking the box of macarons with them, and shout about finding a movie to watch.

Thorin still sneakily edges in closer to Bilbo and begins to dry the dishes when he sets them aside, which gets him a look, but he merely pretends he doesn’t see it, and they work in pleasant silence together.

After Thorin has put the dried dishes away, he gestures for Bilbo to follow, and they go into the sitting room. Fili and Kili are sitting on the sofa on one end, which only leaves the other end for Bilbo and Thorin to sit on, and their thighs nearly touch when they are seated. It’s more than a little awkward for Bilbo, who is highly aware of the heat coming from Thorin, but he tries to ignore it and watches the beginning of _A Knight’s Tale,_ surprised by the choice.

The boys eventually move off of the sofa, taking pillows and going to sit on the floor in front of the television, and Bilbo is stuck in the uncomfortable situation of being too close to Thorin but not knowing if it would insult him if he edged away. Thorin makes the choice for him by standing from the sofa and disappearing from the room and Bilbo quickly scoots to the other end, breathing out a sigh of relief.

It’s not that he doesn’t like being near Thorin. No, he quite likes that, and that is what worries him. He cannot develop _feelings._ Those are terrible, no good things, and he has vowed not to have them anytime soon, as his books are what’s important. Besides, Thorin is beyond reach, on an entirely different world than Bilbo.

He is a king.

He’s also probably straight.

But more importantly, he’s a bloody king.

Bilbo tries not to wonder at why he feels so put out at the thought but still traces Thorin’s movements when he comes back into the sitting room. He is carrying the wine bottle and their glasses and sets to pouring some in each, handing Bilbo’s to him. He mumbles a thanks and drinks his wine thirstily.

The boys laugh loudly at all the right parts of the movie and in such a way that Bilbo suspects they have watched it numerous times. Once the wine has settled a bit in his blood, he finds himself relaxing, and laughing along with them, occasionally chattering with Thorin about nonsense. He wonders how often Thorin is actually able to relax, as he seems to be indulging himself with gusto, and decides that it is a good look on him.

Eventually the movie ends and the boys put on a cartoon Bilbo doesn’t recognize but from Thorin’s slightly dismayed look, suspects it is also a favorite and played often. They watch it for a time, until Bilbo realizes it is almost nine, and looks at Thorin, not wishing for his evening to end, but knowing it has to. The boys are growing quieter anyway and are likely tired from their full day.

“I best get back home,” Bilbo says to Thorin.

Thorin looks at him and nods. There is something in his eyes that Bilbo can’t place but he looks at his nephews and the moment is gone. “Fili, Kili,” he says. “Say goodbye to Bilbo.”

“Are you leaving?” Kili asks with a whine and Bilbo finds himself laughing.

“I have to sleep at some point,” he says, standing from the sofa, Thorin following.

Kili sighs but he clambers to his feet and runs quickly to Bilbo. He throws his arms around his waist and squeezes him and before Bilbo can even think of responding, the boy pulls back and grins, looking very sweet.

Bilbo is infinitely touched and tries not to get choked up about it. “Good night, Kili,” he says with a smile, then looks at his brother. Fili has come to stand close by and while he doesn’t hug Bilbo, he grins, and waves.

“Good night, Bilbo. Thank you for the macarons,” he says.

“You’re very welcome, Fili. Good night,” Bilbo says and waves back. Thorin gestures for him to follow and when Kili starts to come along, Fili grabs his brother by the shoulder and begins to haul him back to their pile of pillows.

“Uncle will walk Bilbo out,” he whispers, just loud enough for Bilbo to hear.

He wonders at them but turns and follows Thorin down the hall, passing by Dwalin as he does, and when he smiles at the head of security, he merely gets narrowed eyes in return, and scurries along.

Thorin stops in front of the front door and doesn’t open it, instead turning to Bilbo, and smiling, warm, and handsome. “Thank you for enjoying dinner with us. And for bringing dessert,” he says. “I’d like to do it again before we leave. The boys would enjoy your company more.”

“Are you trying to get another dessert out of me?” Bilbo asks with some suspicion in his voice, fighting a smile.

“You’ve caught me,” Thorin says and grins. “I wouldn’t object to it, in any case. So… you’ll come?”

Bilbo doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands, so he flails them a little, then quickly crosses his arms. “I’d love to,” he says honestly, even if he’s feeling a bit flustered. “They are very, very good boys. I’m glad to have met them.”

“And they feel the same. As do I,” Thorin says.

Which is a bit too much honesty, in Bilbo’s book. He feels his heart quicken and swallows drily, trying to smile, which ends up being easier than he thought it might. Perhaps too easy, if the way his cheeks begin to ache is any indication.

“Good. Very good,” he says, bouncing on his toes, uncrossing his arms, then holding one hand out to Thorin. “Yes, indeed, I am very glad to have met you all.”

Thorin takes his hand and shakes it, his grip tight, and hot, and it lingers for a moment longer than Bilbo expects it to. Thorin’s fingers brush his wrist when they pull back and Bilbo has to stop himself from grasping his own hand to try and keep that warmth.

“Tuesday?” Thorin asks, smiling.

“I’ve got nothing planned. Tuesday it is,” Bilbo says, feeling light on his feet. “Well, ah, I do hope you enjoy your day tomorrow. And thank you for having me tonight.”

“My pleasure,” Thorin says, and sounds as if he means it. He opens the front door for Bilbo. “We’ll see you in a couple of days. Sleep well.”

Bilbo steps outside into the warm evening air and smiles as he glances back at Thorin. “And you. Good night, Thorin,” he says, the monarch’s name rolling surprisingly easy off his tongue.

“Good night, Bilbo,” Thorin returns, low, and seems to hesitate in closing the door. He finally does so and Bilbo breathes slowly out.

He turns, heading down the yard and to the sidewalk, only barely noticing the bodyguards posted around it. He heads back to his cottage and soon steps inside, closing the door behind himself, and leaning back against it. He shuts his eyes tight, his blood feeling light and airy, and hears Thorin saying his name, in that perfectly honeyed voice.

Bilbo can’t quite shake it out of his mind and decides that he will enjoy a rum and coke before getting himself ready for bed.

He has three rum and cokes and falls into a deep slumber, dreaming of kings.  
  
——

Bilbo has a slow start to his morning, taking his time in waking up, and when he does finally drag himself out of bed, he makes himself crepes with fruit and chocolate sauce for breakfast, along with a few cups of coffee. He takes a walk on the beach and goes quite far, enjoying himself, although he cannot stop thinking about his planned meal with the Durin family. He thinks that, if he cannot get to writing soon, his day will go by dreadfully slow, and decides to head back to the cottage.

Bilbo, naturally, runs into the Durin family on his way there. They are heading to the beach, surfboards in hand, bodyguards in tow, and he debates saying hello. He doesn’t like the idea of intruding more on their family time when he has not been invited and hovers uncertainly.

He does not have much of a choice when Fili sees him and waves, catching his brother’s attention, who begins to shout for him to come over.

Bilbo does so, slightly nervous, which seems to be his constant state around the family, but he smiles nevertheless when he gets close to them.

“Good morning,” he greets. “How are you all today?”

“Good!” the boys chime together, making Bilbo and Thorin chuckle.

“Good morning,” Thorin says, then holds up his surfboard. “Care to join us?”

“Oh goodness, no thank you,” Bilbo says, laughing. “Actually, I planned to write for most of the day but I do have a question for you while I have you.”

Thorin smiles a bit, looking somewhat hesitant now, and Bilbo supposes he should have explained himself more; he imagines Thorin must get many questions he does not like answering.

“About dinner,” he hastens to say. “On Tuesday. I was, ah, wondering if, erm, you’d like to come to my place? So then I can cook for you all this time around?”

Thorin raises his eyebrows and watches Bilbo for a time, then hums, glancing at Dwalin, who is standing nearby. The head of security peers between them before he shakes his head.

“Not at Mister Baggins’s. At the house,” he says gruffly.

“Thought that might be the case,” Thorin says and he is smiling wryly as he looks back to Bilbo. “If you want to, I won’t object, but it has to be in my kitchen.”

“I can work a stovetop anywhere,” Bilbo says and grins. “Good! I quite like cooking and I’d like to return the favor.”

“You did make dessert,” Thorin points out, to which Bilbo huffs dismissively at. Thorin smiles, looking curious. “What will you make?”

“Do you like duck?”

Thorin nods and looks at his nephews. They are both looking between their uncle and Bilbo and Fili nods while Kili just shrugs his shoulders.

“Good enough for me,” Bilbo says with a chuckle. “Duck with pappardelle. You’ll enjoy it.” He claps his hands together. “Well then, I’m off to get some writing done. I do hope you have fun surfing.”

For once Kili seems distracted enough by the thought of being in the ocean that he doesn’t ask Bilbo to stay, for which he is grateful. The boys simply shout out goodbyes and run to the ocean and Thorin sighs, smiles at Bilbo, tells him to come over at five again, and says his goodbyes. Bilbo watches his backside until he realizes what he’s doing and hurries off, heading back to the cottage.

He writes for most of his day, goes to the market to buy what he needs for dinner, and then drinks a strawberry daiquiri with dinner. He finds himself eager to see the Durins, to cook for them, and hopefully impress, and despite Netflix and another walk on the beach, his night goes a bit too slowly for liking.

The next day is not much better. He drinks and he eats and he writes but the hours move slowly, especially when he does not see the king and his nephews at all. He’s mildly disappointed at that, then admonishes himself, because he will be spending another evening with them and they are not _his_ anyway. He hardly knows these people.

But he like them very much.

Evening finally rolls around and Bilbo dresses in the best shirt he has brought and gathers what he needs to make dinner, stuffing it all in bags, and then makes his way to the large home. The bodyguards nod their heads at him and one opens the front door and he’s ushered in, where he meets Dwalin in the foyer again. The big man takes a few of his bags from him and carries them to the kitchen and Bilbo begins to feel a little out of place with no Thorin or Fili and Kili to be seen.

He snoops around the kitchen a bit, getting a look at the pots and pans he’ll need and is glad to see it’s fairly well stocked. He putters in a circle around the kitchen island until he decides to get to it before he feels truly lost.

Thankfully Thorin shows himself after a few minutes and he is on the phone. He offers Bilbo an apologetic glance before he goes back to speaking in Khuzdul and sounds very firm and a little terse. He even raises his voice once and when he finally hangs up, he says something that sounds like a foul curse, and Bilbo looks at him from where he is preparing the duck on the counter.

“Bad call?” he asks, cautious of his welcome into such matters.

“Not one I needed,” Thorin says but then he smiles. “Nothing to worry about. Do you need help?”

“No, no, I’ve got it,” Bilbo says quickly, not liking when people get in his way in the kitchen. “Where are the boys?”

“I’m sorry, they haven’t been told you’re here yet,” Thorin say, then turns and faces the sitting room. “Fili, Kili!” he booms, his deep voice carrying easily through the home. “Bilbo is here!”

There is a distant cheer, sounding as if it comes from their recreational room and soon enough there are thundering footsteps and Fili and Kili make their appearance. They greet Bilbo enthusiastically and peek inside the grocery bags and inform him that Thorin had two pies bought from the market, to which Thorin says it was supposed to be a surprise, and Bilbo finds himself laughing.

He is surprised at how at ease he feels. His worries seem like a waste of time now and he gladly settles into cooking and chattering away with the boys and occasionally Thorin, who sits at the table, and watches Bilbo, who is too in his element to be bothered about it. Dinner is finished thirty or so minutes later and Bilbo serves everyone a generous portion of pasta, along with a slice of freshly baked French baguette, and Thorin pours red wine for them without asking. They sit at the table and dig into their meals and Bilbo is both proud and flattered when Kili makes delighted noises and Fili gives him a thumbs up.

Thankfully Thorin does not start groaning again but he compliments the dinner repeatedly, which doesn’t fail to make Bilbo feel flustered but altogether pleased. They eat and they talk and laugh and it is a lovely time and Bilbo enjoys himself immensely. Pie for dessert doesn’t hurt either.

It seems their night is to follow the first one and they go into the sitting room and Fili and Kili choose a movie. They sit on the floor and Bilbo and Thorin take the sofa and they speak in quiet tones for a while.

Thorin gets up after an hour or so and Bilbo suspects he is either going to check his phone or use the bathroom. But when he comes back, he does not sit, and leans over the back of the sofa close to Bilbo. “The stars are beautiful tonight,” he says, low, and soft.

Something about the way he says it sends Bilbo’s stomach into a quick loop and his heart into his throat. He looks at the king and blinks a few times until Thorin gestures for him to follow and he carefully rises from the sofa, glancing at Fili and Kili, who are absorbed in their movie, and begins to follow Thorin. He leads him to the veranda outside, murmuring something in Khuzdul to the bodyguard who is posted there, and the towering man goes around to the other side of the house.

It is the first time that he feels truly alone with Thorin and doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He stuffs his hands into his pockets as they walk to the edge of the veranda and then finally looks up at the stars.

“Oh how lovely,” he says, suddenly glad Thorin has invited him, despite his nerves. The stars seem closer than any night so far and though it is a bit chillier tonight than the previous few, it is a beautiful sight, and one of the many reasons he is glad to have Biarritz. “Fili should paint this.”

Thorin chuckles and Bilbo realizes just how close he is standing to him. “He took a few pictures last night and plans to paint them when we get home,” he says, smiling, and looking very fond.

“He’s really very good for his age,” Bilbo says. “I could never claim to be such an artist.”

“They both have their talents,” Thorin says. “Fili wants to be a professional artist until the time for his duties comes. He’s not bad with digital either. Kili wants to be a violinist. He’s been playing since he could pick it up.”

“Goodness, what skilled nephews you have,” Bilbo says with a grin. “You must be as proud as their parents are.”

“Always,” Thorin replies and smiles. “And what of you, Mister Baggins? Do you have any talents besides being a fine writer, cook and baker?”

Bilbo blushes and coughs a little and bounces on his toes. “I am good at conkers,” he says. “And the occasional dartboard when I’m in a pub.”

Thorin laughs, a rich, deep thing, and it warms Bilbo. “So you have good aim,” he says and sounds as if he’s teasing. “You struck my nephews with precision.”

“I am a very likable person,” Bilbo says with gusto, which gets an amused smile out of Thorin. “They’ve fairly struck me too. I, ah… I truly wouldn’t mind seeing them again.”

“Come to Erebor,” Thorin says quickly, then clears his throat. “It would gladly have you.” He seems to flounder for a moment, his brow furrowed. “And… my sister would like to meet her sons’ favorite author, I’m sure.”

Bilbo feels as if this is not exactly what Thorin meant to say but before he can wonder at it anymore, the back door opens, and Kili pokes his head out.

“What are you doing- mmf!” he begins to say, but a hand reaches out and clamps over his mouth.

Fili grabs his brother and hauls him back inside. “Sorry, sorry,” he says in a rush. “You two talk. We’ll be, uh… inside… when you get back. Bye!” He drags his brother, closing the door behind himself, and seems to give him a quick scolding. Kili stamps his foot but whatever Fili says next has the boy heaving a great sigh and wandering off back into the sitting room.

Bilbo gapes after them and when he looks at Thorin, he notes that his cheeks seem a bit rosy, and cannot help but wonder at it. They simply stare at each other for a time and then Thorin grins a little and Bilbo can do nothing but laugh.

“Good gracious, what was that about?”

“I wonder,” Thorin says, still grinning, and looks the happiest and most relaxed that Bilbo has seen him thus far.

It warms him straight to his toes, which curl in his shoes, and he feels very light, and like he is flying. They fall into a companionable silence, looking between the stars, and the beach in the distance, enjoying the sound of the waves. Bilbo feels as if this is a perfect moment and if he was kissing Thorin, it would be a divine one, but he quickly brushes that thought aside.

His holiday has taken a fairytale like turn, becoming friends with a king and his nephews, and Bilbo is simply glad to have that much. He thanks fate, which he normally doesn’t believe in, for bringing him to Biarritz this summer.

Eventually Thorin touches his arm, which startles him a bit, and Thorin’s hand gently grasping his elbow doesn’t particularly help matters, but he suggests they go back inside to finish their wine and the movie with the boys.

They do just that and while Fili keeps glancing at them for a reason Bilbo can’t quite place, it is an ideal time to spend the rest of the evening. Eventually the boys begin to yawn and when Bilbo realizes the time, he says goodbye to them, and Thorin walks him out again.

“Thursday?” he asks at the door and Bilbo begins to laugh.

“Are you sure? I feel as if I’m taking time away from your holiday.”

“Not at all,” Thorin says. “We leave Friday. We’ll be on the beach for the next couple of days. You should join us. If… if you want to, that is. If you’re not busy writing, I mean.”

Bilbo didn’t expect to see the day a monarch would stumble over his words and smiles. “Well… if I make sure to write all day tomorrow, then I don’t see why I can’t spend Thursday with you and the boys. Ah, yes, that sounds very good to me.”

Thorin smiles and looks relieved. He turns toward the hallway, barks something in Khuzdul, and Dwalin appears as if from thin air, and approaches them. Thorin says something more in his mother language and the head of security digs into his pocket, pulling out a notepad and a pen, handing them to Thorin.

Thorin takes them and then writes something down before tearing the page out of the notebook and handing it over to Bilbo.

He takes it, inspecting it, and sees an email, and for half a moment thinks Thorin has given him his personal email, until he actually reads it, and sees that it says _travel inquiries._

“For you to email when you come to Erebor,” Thorin says hesitantly. “My people will get into touch with me if you make mention of a personal invitation and give your name.”

Bilbo stares at Thorin for a moment, his heart thundering in his chest, and begins to think that it will eventually go out on him with all of the extra work it has put in since he met the Durins. He finds he doesn’t quite know what to say and when Thorin begins to look worried, he starts.

“Thank you,” he says and means it. “I am getting rather excited about a trip to Erebor.”

Thorin smiles, wide and true. “Good,” he says. He opens the front door and shows Bilbo out. “Thank you for dinner. If we don’t see you tomorrow, we’ll see you on Thursday. Wear board shorts.”

“Oh dear. I suppose I’ll have to. I’m looking forward to it. Good night, Thorin,” Bilbo says and waves. Thorin murmurs a good night and Bilbo hastens back to his cottage, thinking that only an appletini will make his night even better.

——

Bilbo spends Wednesday doing as he said he would and writes and makes good progress on his book. He gets a little drunk later that night and spends an hour googling Erebor and seeing what there is to do there on a holiday and looks at pictures of the palace and parliament and maybe a few of Thorin, too.

On Thursday he has a late start and panics for a moment, cleaning himself up and stuffing toast into his mouth before he makes his way out onto the veranda. He breathes a sigh of relief because Thorin and his nephews are stepping out onto their own veranda and they meet in the middle. The boys are just as enthusiastic about the water as any other day and Bilbo laughs and goes down to the beach with them. He thinks that he will make another sandcastle with Kili but the boy declares that he will go swimming while Thorin says that he will teach Bilbo how to surf.

Bilbo puts up quite an argument at that and says that he is a poor swimmer, to which Thorin says he will make sure he doesn’t drown, and the boys beg him to try, and he caves eventually, though he is extremely nervous. He decides to follow Thorin’s lead and doesn’t take his shirt off, thinking he would be too embarrassed with his soft stomach, while Thorin is very clearly made out of stone. Thorin doesn’t say anything and gently coaxes Bilbo out into the water, patient, and after a few tries, he gets Bilbo on the surfboard. They practice standing on it first, which Bilbo fails spectacularly at, and eventually gets fed up with watching Thorin hide a grin. He puts on a brave face and stands on the board, proud of himself when he gets it right, until Thorin says it’s time to try a wave and ruins his pleasure.

He continues to make a fool out of himself but eventually he is laughing along with Thorin and Fili, who occasionally surfs by them, shouting out tips to Bilbo, even though he has only just begun surfing himself and is quite wobbly on the board.

Kili is swimming in the shallowest bit of the ocean and he cheers Bilbo on, which is both cute and highly amusing.

Once Bilbo is sore, he says he cannot do it anymore, and Thorin laughs, swimming with him back to the shore, and they join Kili in the sand. He has his pail and a humble sandcastle going and Thorin and Bilbo help him to build it, taking his directions to heart. Fili surfs for a while more until he comes in and they all work on the sandcastle and talk and laugh and Bilbo feels quite at home.

The boys say they’re hungry after a while and Thorin invites Bilbo to have sandwiches with them, to which he agrees, and they set off for the monarch’s home. They clean themselves up, then go into the kitchen and make their lunch, and Bilbo and Thorin partake in a few beers each, and quite enjoy themselves.

Bilbo spends the rest of the day with them. They watch movies and drink more beer, and the boys play video games, and then they make dinner together when the time comes. Bilbo holds every moment close to his heart, knowing this is his last day with them, and tries not to think about how he may never see them again, if going to Erebor doesn’t work in the way that they’ve planned. He tries not to think about that and instead vows to himself that he will see the Durins again, no matter what. They have settled into his life in a few short days and he doesn’t want to let them go.

He stays later that night, neither him nor Thorin making mention of the hour, until Kili falls asleep in front of the television and Fili seems on his way to join him. Bilbo doesn’t want to but he knows that they are leaving in the morning and says he must be off to bed himself.

Fili wakes Kili and then the boy wraps himself around Bilbo, who hugs him tightly back, and makes promises that he will see him again. Even Fili gives him a one-armed hug and tells Bilbo that he still wants to teach him how to ski and Bilbo’s voice is a bit shaky when he says goodbye to them.

It takes a while to find any words to say to Thorin when he walks him out one last time. He shakes his hand and the touch lingers, until he thinks that Thorin is having as much of a hard time letting go as he is, but he tries not to let hope take him.

“Well, ah… thank you for making my holiday a special one,” Bilbo says once he has let go of Thorin’s hand, keenly feeling the loss of warmth. “It truly was.”

Thorin smiles but there is something off about it. His eyes don’t crinkle in the way that Bilbo is used to seeing on him now and he stays quiet for a moment. Then he sighs from low in his chest and inclines his head. “As was ours. You made it for my boys and I can’t thank you enough for that. I hope to return the favor when you come to Erebor.”

Bilbo has gotten used to Thorin’s confidence in his trip to Erebor and smiles although it is a bit forced. “I’m sure you will,” he says. “Thank you again.” He doesn’t quite want to leave but Thorin opens the door for him and he steps outside and waves. “Good bye, Thorin.”

“Good bye, Bilbo,” Thorin says with his brow furrowed, as if he is not pleased with something. When Bilbo has turned away and is beginning to walk down the pathway, Thorin says, “Bilbo?”

He turns back around, his stomach looping and looks at Thorin. “Yes?”

“Ah… no, it’s nothing. No matter,” Thorin says. “Good night.”

“Good night, Thorin. Safe travels,” Bilbo says and walks away with a heavy heart. He wants to look back but he doesn’t and goes into his own cottage, where he goes straight to bed and collapses in it, knowing he has another bad night ahead of him. His eyes sting and he considers himself an absolute fool for it and tries to be thankful for the gift he has already been given.

——

Bilbo feels terrible the next morning and moodily makes himself breakfast and coffee. He sits on his sofa rather than the veranda and watches Netflix and pretends he isn’t thinking about the Durins, even if they are on the forefront of his mind.

He will not know when they are safely back in Erebor and tells himself that it is none of his business and that they will be fine. He gets himself to believe it after a while and is debating getting drunk early in his day so he can black out and take a nap and forget about things for a while.

Thorin is too much for him. He is a king, he runs a country, and has a certain image to uphold. Bilbo is nothing more than a mildly famous author with not much else to his name. He could not be good enough for Thorin, even if the man happened to be attracted to him. He is too much, too big, too far away, and when Bilbo goes to Erebor, he hopes that he will have convinced himself of it, and not carry his hopeless crush around with him until then.

The last thing Thorin needs is someone pining after him. Bilbo is sure he deals with that enough already.

He goes to his pantry and pulls out the bottle of rum, debating doing a few straight shots, thinking himself rather pathetic because of it, when there are three knocks on his door.

Bilbo’s heart gives a kickstart until he looks at the time and knows the Durins have already left, so it someone else. He shakes off his disappointment, puts the bottle down, and goes to his door, unlocking and opening it.

He blinks a few times at the sight before him.

They have apparently not left quite yet, as it is Thorin standing on his doorstep, the black sedan parked in front of the cottage.

Bilbo’s heart thunders and he opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. “Hello,” he says, unsure of what else to say. “Goodness, I hope you aren’t going to miss your flight.”

That is not particularly what he wanted to come out of his mouth but Thorin smiles.

“It will wait a moment,” he says, then holds his hand out, in which there is a piece of paper.

Bilbo takes it and looks down at it, blinking at the phone number there. He looks back at Thorin. “What’s this?”

“My number. Forget the email. Text me,” Thorin says, in a bit of a rush. “Text me soon. Call me, if you would like.”

Bilbo feels his mouth hanging open and can’t really snap it shut. He is too surprised for that. He blinks at Thorin, who is slowly turning a bright red color, and feels his own cheeks warm. “Are… are you sure I’m allowed?”

Thorin huffs. “I can give my number to whoever I please, no matter what my advisors have to say about it,” he says and grins, a painfully wide thing, and steps closer. “Bilbo, please call me. Don’t make me wait a year to hear from you.”

Bilbo stares at him, a great roar like the ocean’s waves in his ears, and is not sure he has heard Thorin properly. He swallows drily, looking down at the phone number, then back at Thorin, an immense amount of joy beginning to surge through his veins. He remembers how to work his mouth and slowly smiles, holding the piece of paper closer to his chest.

“I won’t,” he promises. “I’ll… I’ll call you soon, Thorin.”

Thorin breathes out a heavy sigh, as if a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders, and his eyes are soft as he gazes at Bilbo. “Good,” he whispers. The sedan’s car horn sounds and Thorin sighs again. “I have to go. I’ll be waiting for you.” He hesitates, then swoops in, and presses a chaste kiss to Bilbo’s cheek.

Before Bilbo can even think to respond, Thorin has turned and is striding down to the sedan. He watches the monarch go, too stunned to breathe, and when Thorin opens the backdoor, Kili nearly stumbles out.

“You kissed him!” the boy says, then waves wildly toward Bilbo before Thorin ushers him out of the way and slides into the car, glancing back at Bilbo and smiling, genuine and amused.

Bilbo lifts his hand and waves back at the family. The car door closes and it is off and Bilbo stays where he’s at, watching it until it disappears around a corner. His hands are trembling and he looks down at the phone number again, staring at it, hoping that this is not a dream.

He closes his door and wanders down the hallway, getting his phone, and entering the number, with Thorin’s name. He sits down on the sofa and touches his cheek, dazed, and feeling like he is floating.

He laughs after a moment and grabs his laptop.

“I suppose it’s time to plan a holiday.”

And so he does, and when winter comes, he boards a plane, with Thorin’s voice ringing in his ears that he is awaiting to hold him in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god, it's just a lot of sap, I'm sorry. I've been in a writer's block since July and I was suddenly able to write in the last week and this is what came out of it. I hope you enjoyed it at least a bit and if you did, please leave kudos and a comment! They are a writer's dream!
> 
> A huge shout out to [Angelsallfire](https://angelsallfire.tumblr.com/) for being awesome!!
> 
>  [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


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